The Darkness Within
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: "The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before..." A collection of drabbles for darkarts-drabs on LiveJournal.
1. Lucius and the Hand of Glory

**Character**: Lucius Malfoy  
**Prompt**: The Hand of Glory  
**Word Count**: 573  
**Rating**: PG

)O(

If Lucius could have avoided going into Borgin and Burke's, he would have.

He loathed Knockturn Alley – ever more since the Dark Lord had returned, for now, Lucius saw it no longer only as the shady but ultimately harmless little collection of shops that catered to those with a taste for the macabre, but as a genuinely dangerous place that could provide the Dark Lord with anything and everything that he wanted for himself and for his Death Eaters.

And for all of Lucius's attempts at pride and happiness at the Dark Lord's return, he could not shake the feeling that it meant impending danger for him and his family.

If Lucius had believed that it would be effective, he would have done everything to avoid the  
Dark Arts and all places associated with them. He would have given up all his old ways in a second if he believed that doing so would protect Narcissa and Draco.

But he did not believe that it would.

On the contrary, he knew that avoiding the Dark Arts would only lead to more trouble. Those who abandoned the Dark Lord were not treated kindly – no, Lucius was lucky to have avoided torture for his abandonment thirteen years ago… for never going to search for the Dark Lord…  
Now, the most he could do was try to keep his family safe.

And it was in the name of his family's safety that he went to Borgin and Burke's.

Mr. Borgin was already in the front room when Lucius entered, and there was an expression of near-manic excitement on his face. "Master Malfoy, how lovely to see you – it has been a long time, hasn't it? Might I interest you in–"

"I want your Hand of Glory," Lucius interrupted. He had not the patience to tolerate Borgin's oily attempts to sell him everything in the shop. "Now. Give it to me. Whatever your price is, I'll pay it," he added, when Borgin opened his mouth.

"Might I ask what it's for, Master Malfoy?" he asked.

"I need it, Borgin," Lucius snapped. "Do not ask questions. That is not your place."  
Borgin looked suspicious, but he said nothing more, much to Lucius's relief. He did not know how he would explain – without telling someone who was not in the fold about the Dark Lord's return – that he had thought for years that a Hand of Glory would be something useful to possess, something that he would want to have in times of trouble. If he and his family needed to make a swift and covert escape – and Lucius prayed that they never would have to, but he knew that there was a chance, always a chance – he wanted to be prepared. He wanted to have everything that could be of use at his disposal.

Lucius did not look at Borgin when he lifted the Hand of Glory off its cushion. He kept his eyes upon the Hand while Borgin wrapped it in paper and placed it in a box with all the care of a man laying a child to rest…

And Lucius did not look at Borgin while he handed over his money. He looked down at the box and thought of the object within it.

And thought _the Hand of Glory brings light only to the holder._

And thought, _please, let it bring enough light to guide us when the Dark Lord has risen fully._

)O(

_Fin_


	2. Barty Crouch and the Unbreakable Vow

**Character**: Barty Crouch jr  
**Prompt**: The Unbreakable Vow  
**Word Count**: 650  
**Rating**: G

)O(

Barty Crouch had never been a free man – his father had made sure of that from his youth. Always, Barty had been in his father's shadow, consigned to the role of Mr. Crouch's son. And despite his willingness to fill that role – he never complained, never a word – his father showed no affection towards him. He never gave Barty anything in return, and yet he expected him to be ever faithful. Ever the good son.

No.

There were other people more deserving of Barty's faith than his father.

The Dark Lord, for instance, deserved every ounce of loyalty that Barty possessed.

The Dark Lord was far beyond Barty's father in power, in skill, in ambition and in wisdom. He was a great man, a man with foresight and vision for the Wizarding world, no matter what the Aurors believed.

Were it wholly Barty's decision, he would have gladly spent every second of his life in the Dark Lord's service. He would have stood at his side whenever he was needed, would have done anything and everything to prove that he and he alone was truly the Dark Lord's most faithful servant.

But he could not, for the Dark Lord refused to grant him that trust.

"I do not know what you wish from me, my Lord," he told his Master after one meeting too many in which he was ignored and overlooked. "I would willingly give you my life, and yet- yet you treat me like…" He trailed off when the Dark Lord turned to him and fixed him with a sharp glare.

"I treat you with the dignity and trust that I feel you deserve, Crouch – no more and no less," he told him coldly. A flush of humiliation rose on Barty's cheeks.

"But Master, I could achieve so much more than you believe of me–"

The Dark Lord's hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around Barty's wrist. They were cold and steady and he gripped his hand with an intensity that made him shiver.

"Promise your loyalty to me, Crouch," he whispered, leaning so close that Barty felt his breath brush against his ear. "If you are so loyal that you feel you deserve higher trust than you are being given, you will have no hesitations about swearing upon it…"

"I- I will swear my loyalty to you, my Lord." Barty's breath was weak, stuttering, and his hand shook in his Master's, but he spoke earnestly. "Always to you, my Lord. Only to you, my Lord. What can I do to make you believe me when I say that?"

The Dark Lord's eyes ran across Barty's face, flicked between his eyes, seeming to search for some signal of honesty or deception.

"Make the Unbreakable Vow," he said at last, his voice low and firm. "Make the Unbreakable Vow and swear your unending loyalty to me, and then perhaps I shall give my trust to you…"

"I will gladly make the Vow to you, my Lord," Barty said immediately. "I will take it now – I want nothing more than to serve you, my Lord, to see you rise to the power that you deserve!"

"Nothing more?" The Dark Lord arched an eyebrow and Barty dropped his eyes, running his tongue around his lips.

"It- it is my primary desire, my Lord," he amended. "But I would be dishonest if I said that I did not have other wishes that are… related to your power."

"Wishes pertaining to your father?" he asked, not without a touch of amusement.

"Yes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord lifted Barty's hand, holding it between them and squeezing it firmly.  
"Your wishes can be granted, Barty," he whispered. "Swear your loyalty to me and you will be rewarded. Give yourself to me, and you will become known as a great man, not merely a boy in your father's shadow… I promise you that."


	3. Severus and Advanced Potion Making

**Character**: Severus Snape  
**Prompt**: _Advanced Potion Making_  
**Word Count**: 500  
**Rating**: PG-13

)O(

James Potter had pushed him too many times.

James lived a life that Severus would have given anything for – handsome, admired, happy, and even Lily fancied him. If Severus had been in James' place, he liked to think that he would have used his clout and popularity for good. He would have used it to elevate the status of people like himself – the downtrodden, the underdogs, people who didn't always get what they wanted.

At least, Severus liked to pretend that that was what he would do. He liked to pretend that he resented James because James was squandering the gifts that life had given him on stupid things like courting Lily Evans – and Severus did try to tell himself that the courting of Lily Evans was a stupid thing. It was stupid when James Potter did it, at any rate.

If Severus had, in reality, possessed the kind of good luck that seemed to hang on James Potter constantly, he would most likely have squandered it in exactly the same way, the small part of his mind that was entirely honest reminded him. But he ignored that part of his mind.

Oh, and there were no words for the hatred that Severus felt burning in his heart when he saw Lily and James together. He watched them, watched Lily lean over to whisper something in James' ear, watched them laugh and smile and intertwine their fingers in that sickening little motion that childish lovers like them made.

Severus watched with his copy of _Advanced Potions Making_ lifted up to cover his face. He hid behind it so that Lily would not see the sneer of disgust and loathing on his lips if she should happen to glance over at him (not that Severus expected her to glance at him; he had long since given up the idea that she would ever look at him again). He watched James touch her hair tenderly, and he wished with everything that he had in him that James would die. There. Now.

If Severus had known a curse, something that would kill a person in agonizing slowness – if there had been a single spell in all the books of the Dark Arts that he read that would even have come close to the torture that he felt James deserved – he would have used it in an instant. He would gladly torture him, all thoughts of morality be damned. He would bleed him out until he was pale and gasping for one last breath.

Severus stared at James over the top of his book for a moment more, then stood abruptly.

Why shouldn't there be a spell that would satisfy his hatred towards James? If none existed, why should he not set about creating one? He had made spells before, working them over and perfecting every detail of them, all in the pages of his potions book. He could do another.

He could take James' fate upon himself. He – alone – could make him pay.


	4. Tom and Unicorn Blood

**Character**: Tom Riddle Jr.  
**Prompt**: Unicorn Blood  
**Word Count**: 397  
**Rating**: PG-13

)O(

Tom liked the Forbidden Forest – it was pleasant to be alone in the quiet and dark where no one else could disturb him. Even the creatures that inhabited it stayed away from him.

He liked to believe that it was because they sensed something about him. He liked to believe that they knew what the people around him did not: that he was powerful, strong enough to hurt them if he wanted to.

He sat, lost in thought, at the base of one of the massive trees that were so plentiful once one reached the deeper corners of the forest, and he watched for movement. No birds flew overhead, no spiders scuttled over his hands.

But then there was a shimmer of something pale and pearly between the trees, and Tom stiffened. He could see movement, see something shifting the brush and branches, and he reached for his wand, prepared to fight whatever it might be.

The leaves of a patch of low shrubbery rustled, and Tom directed his wand at it.

"_Confringo_!"

An explosion like a bomb rang through the clearing and even Tom winced at the sound. He balled his hands into fists, forcing away any fear or shock that the noise had caused, then he rose to his feet and approached the bushes.

Their leaves were blackened and burned, and spattered with shimmering grey.

Tom knelt in front of them and placed his hand gently on the branches, pushing them aside to see what his spell had hit. Silver liquid dripped down his hands, thick and sticky and viscous, and the branches crumbled away at his touch, and then he saw the corpse.

He had only seen unicorns in drawings before. They, like the other creatures of the forest, kept their distance from him. But here one lay in the mud, its chest torn so wide open that he could see its ribs and its still-quivering organs, and its shining, pearly blood spilling over the ground, still with a look of innocent surprise frozen on its face.

Tom reached out tentatively and placed his hand upon the animal's chest – no, into the animal's chest, onto its heart, where he could still feel the whisper of life.

He was sure that he should have felt regret for such a vile crime.

But he didn't.

_Stupid beast should have known better than to come near him._

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
